Eighteen year old Charlotte Moriarty, the Muggle Liason Office's newest (and least influentual) recruit, is out to change the world. A tale of growing up, cross-cultural relations, and rampant idealism.

Disclaimer: There is no connection at all between Charlotte Moriarty and the famous villain of the Sherlock Holmes series, however credit must go to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for the inspiration for the name.

Today marked the beginning of a bright new future. The sun was streaming in through the window, making even the dust dance and sparkle. I watched the particles float through the air, mesmerised, before realising there was an awful lot of dust around and I probably should have done something about it. But there were more important things to worry about today. The entire future of Muggle and wizarding Britain depended on the impression I made when I walked into the office in two hours’ time. No pressure. None at all.

“How’s the revolutionary?” Hugo Weasley asked with what may have been a hint of sarcasm, poking his head into the fridge.

“Good.” I exhaled slowly to calm my nerves. “Really good. Of course I’m good, this is the beginning of—”

“Yeah, okay,” Hugo said, cutting me off. “We’re out of milk, could you go and get some?”

I turned my unimpressed face towards him. “I’m about to change the world, and you want me to go buy milk?”

Hugo paused for a long moment. “Well, I kind of want it on my cereal and you’re a woman possessed if you don’t have your morning coffee, and someone put an anti-refilling charm on the last bottle.”

“You know perfectly well we don’t have a chance of integrating well with Muggles if we keep cheating them with refilling charms.”

“Then go integrate with the Muggle at the shop down the road, and get us some milk.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“Because I don’t know how to deal with Muggles as well as you.” Hugo gave me a winning smile. “You’re a Muggle-wizard liason extraordinaire.”

I rolled my eyes, but he had a point. I should seize every opportunity to interact with Muggles, and the shop was just down the road. I picked up my Muggle wallet, checked inside it, and turned to Hugo.

“Have you seen my Eftpos card?”

“That plastic thing?”

“Yeah.”

Hugo stood, fished something out of the sink, glanced around for a teatowel and wiped it off. I took it gingerly from him.

“Why does it have traces of butter on it?”

“Um, because we didn’t have any clean knives left last night and I wanted toast.”

“And then you put it in the sink?”

“What? It’s plastic, isn’t it?”

“It has a magnetic strip! It’s not a butter knife and you don’t leave it in the sink overnight!”

“Silly Muggles,” Hugo said, shaking his head. “What’s the point if you can’t use them to buy things and spread butter?”

“Next time you use a Galleon to spread butter, let me know.” I shoved the card in my pocket and walked out the door.

“That’s just impractical!” Hugo called after me. “It’s completely the wrong shape!”

The grumpy elderly lady who was usually behind the counter at the shop was gone, replaced by a young man with sandy blond hair and glasses.

“Good morning,” he said cheerfully, fresh out of customer service training.

“That it is,” I confirmed, waltzing across to the chiller and seizing the first carton I found.

“Got plans for today then?” he asked. “Or are you just in a good mood?”

“Both. I start my new job today.”

“Oh, good luck.” The young man smiled ruefully. “It’s my first day too, but I hope for your sake it goes better than mine.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, you know how it is. First day, trying to figure out how everything works, you get the before school rush with all the frantic mums and demanding children, and the commuters who want tea and coffee in time to catch their train or bus, and they get a bit angry if you take too long. Two seventy, thanks.”

I pulled out my card, wiping the last of the butter off on my jeans.

“Butter?” the guy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Flatmate used it as a butter knife.”

“Let me guess, you haven’t done the dishes in a while?”

“We just don’t have a lot of cutlery.”

With a small smile, the guy fished around underneath the counter for a moment, emerging with a handful of plastic knives, forks and spoons. “Free,” he informed me. “I know what flatting’s like. Just don’t tell my nana.”

I grinned. “Thanks!”

“Hope your first day at work goes well!” he called after me.

“Charlotte.”

“What now?”

Hugo held up the carton. “You realise this is yoghurt, right?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” He upended the carton and a dollop of thick yoghurt plopped onto his cornflakes. “Distracted, were you?”

“I was talking to the guy at the counter.”

“The guy?” Hugo repeated. “It wasn’t old Mrs Whatsherface this time?”

“Nah, it was her grandson, I think. About our age.”

“Oh, is he now?” Hugo asked, raising his eyebrow. “I understand the distraction.”

“It wasn’t—Well,” I conceded, “He was kinda good looking.”

“That’d be new territory for you. Actually dating a Muggle.”

“Who said anything about dating?” I asked, rather astonished at the speed at which Hugo’s mind worked. “I had a conversation with him in the store where he worked and happened to pick up yoghurt instead of milk. Could have happened to anyone. I have to leave in ten minutes.” With that, I picked up my cold piece of toast and disappeared into my room to find my robes. Undetectable Extension Charm on my handbag, robes in handbag, I’d put them on once I got to the entrance of the Ministry. Most other witches and wizards Apparated to the entrance, but I had an example to set in terms of integration, and I would be walking and taking the bus. I had even gone out and bought a shiny new bus card – how many Hogwarts graduates had those?

In the time between finishing at Hogwarts and getting my NEWT results so I could apply for a job, I had walked and bused to the entrance of the Ministry of Magic several times for research purposes, so I knew how everything worked. I had gotten a few interesting looks from other wizards on occasion – I suppose it looked a bit funny, coming to the grotty public toilets that served as the gateway to the Ministry, having a look around and leaving again – but it was worth it to know what I was doing now. There were even a few familiar faces on the bus by now, though I knew better than to try and talk to them. One day, I told myself. One day I’d strike up a casual conversation, start building relationships and connections with the Muggles around me. A magical presence in a non-magical world.

I got off the bus at the now familiar stop outside the grotty Ministry toilets, falling into step behind a witch in bright emerald robes and following her into the toilets. At either end were two burly security wizards, dressed in navy blue robes and looking rather intimidating.

I looked around, feeling slightly awed. I’d never used the employee’s entrance before – I went through the visitor’s entrance for my interview – and it was so exciting to think I was part of this. Part of the Government. Taking my place in the real world at last.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” one of the security wizards began. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

I looked around, and realised with some horror that he was talking to me. Did I do something wrong? “Um, I need to use these.”

“There are others nearby, ma’am. You can’t use these ones.”

“But—” I was cut off by the arrival of a little old wizard, who Apparated directly onto the sink and tumbled onto the floor.

“So sorry,” the little wizard squeaked, “Was a bit off with my timing—”

The security wizards exchanged glances, and within seconds had grabbed both my arms and dragged me directly through the wall into a long, dark corridor.

“Wait!” I cried. “Where are you taking me?”

“There’s no need to panic, ma’am,”one of them said in a brisk, official tone.

They really did run a tight operation here. Every time I had even tried to open my mouth, one of them had shut me down with an ‘It’s okay ma’am’ or a ‘please stay calm’ or a ‘you will come to no harm here.’ Personally, I thought losing all my memories of magic would come under the category of harm, but that was just me.

“Just before you destroy all my memories forever,” I began, as loudly and clearly and if-you-try-and-shush-me-I-will-ignore-you-so-don’t-even-go-there as I could, “I’d like a piece of parchment and a quill, so I can write down my memories of Hogwarts so even if I can’t access them, someone at the Ministry of Magic will know I existed.”

“How do you know about Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic?” Security Wizard 01 asked sharply.

I feigned deep thought. “Hmm, let’s see here. I could be a witch on her way to her first day in the Muggle Liason Office who happened to take the bus and couldn’t wear her robes on the bus because of the Statute of Secrecy, or I could be a particularly nosy and astute Muggle who happened to find out all these things by chance and somehow came by the wand in her handbag.”

At the mention of this, Security Wizard 02 promptly opened my handbag and upended it.

“Do you mind—” I protested feebly, but it was too late – everything in my magically expanded handbag was now lying in full view on the floor – robes, wand, wallet, bus card, quills, parchment, hairbrush, tampons.

“Charlotte Moriarty. That’s M-O-R-I-A-R-T-Y.” I usually made some reference to Sherlock Holmes at this point, but something told me the mention of Muggle literature wouldn’t be a good move right now.

He took a piece of parchment from a nearby desk, scribbled a note, charmed it, and sent it on its way. “We’ve been watching you for a couple of weeks now. Would you mind explaining why you came to the Ministry employee’s entrance on several occasions by bus, looked around, and left again?”

I was beginning to regret doing that now. “Um, I was practicing getting here. You know, making sure I got off at the right stop and stuff. I got it wrong a couple of times.”

“Surely it would only take one trip to work out such things.”

“Well, I wanted to time it, see. Over several days so I had an average.”

The security wizards exchanged glances. “I see.”

“Can I go to work now?”

Security Wizard 01 sighed. “Straight down the corridor, third door on your left.”

I remembered the elevators from my interview, and knew I was heading for Level 3, the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. In my mind, Muggle Liason shouldn’t be primarily concerned with accidents and catastrophes, but I figured that would be a change I could suggest once I was a bit more established in the office. Now that I was late for my first day, such influence would probably be harder to come by.

I knocked on the door marked Muggle Liason Office.

“Come in!” a woman’s voice called.

Feeling slightly nervous, I opened the door and stepped inside. A flurry of interdepartmental memos flew out, some hitting me in the face. When they had dispersed, I could see the room which I had my interview in – small, with a desk in one corner, a potted plant in another, a small table piled with old magazines and a few chairs, and a coat rack adorned with one old travelling cloak that had presumably been left since last winter.

“Ah. Charlotte, isn’t it?” the woman behind the desk, who I recognised as Melissa Burbridge, the head of the Muggle Liason Office who had interviewed me, asked.

“That’s me.”

Melissa nodded. “Ivan sent a message saying you would be late. I’d love to hear the story, but I’m sure you can regale us with it at morning tea. The office is through that door – I’ve told the others to start you off easy.”

“Oh no, I can—”

“I’d beware of them though, if I were you,” Melissa continued, but before I could ask her exactly what she meant by that, she gestured towards the door.

The Muggle Liason Office itself was unlike anything I’d seen before. There were two cubicles on either side of the room, and a long bench ran the length of the back wall. In the middle of the room was a square table surrounded by chairs. Abandoned interdepartmental memos hovered in the air, occasionally giving up and fluttering to the floor. There was parchment everywhere, intermingled with random Muggle documents and the occasional food wrapper or empty coffee cup.

“Fresh meat!” one guy said enthusiastically, looking up from what he was doing at the bench and waving jovially at me. “Are you the one who nearly got Obliviated?”

“Don’t mind him,” an Asian guy advised me. “We make bets on how long the newbies will last, and Connor here stands to lose five Galleons and a lot of face if you’re still here after a week. My name’s Hiroto Nakamura.”

“…So I’ll check the file for you, and get back to you after lunch,” a familiar voice said, as the owner of said familiar voice emerged from one of the cubicles and made for the door I was standing in front of.

“Mr Weasley!” I said happily, excited to see someone I recognised.

Hugo’s grandad grinned at me. “Good morning, Charlotte. Trouble with the Obliviators this morning, I hear? Best not tell Hugo, you’ll never live it down.”

The man Mr Weasley was talking to emerged from the cubicle, rubbing his greying beard. “Morning,” he grunted at me.

“Good morning.”

“I’m Justin Finch-Fletchley. I pretty much run the show round here, no matter what they might tell you.” Justin jerked his head in the direction of Hiroto and Connor. “I hope you’re here to work, Miss Moriarty.”

“Of course,” I said hurriedly, nodding. “Absolutely.”

“That’s your cubicle over there.” Justin pointed to the cubicle in the top left corner. “And you can start the morning – ” he lifted a large pile of parchment from the table and dumped it into my arms – “By sorting these by date into piles. They go back about three weeks. One pile per day. And I want them labelled.”

Justin disappeared back into his cubicle, and I looked at the pile of parchment in my arms, my excitement rapidly deflating.